


The Gift of Men

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Characters - Family Dynamics, Characters - Friendship, Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Well-handled emotions, Drama, Fourth Age, Plot - Bittersweet, Writing - Well-handled dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3769886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once she sought death in despair, but now, after a long life, Eowyn faces death, Eru's gift to men, with different thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift of Men

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

  
_"1484 - It was heard after that Master Meriadoc came to Edoras and was with King Eomer before he died in that autumn. Then he and Thain Peregrin went to Gondor and passed what short years were left to them in that realm, until they died and were laid in Rath Dinen among the great of Gondor."_  
  
Meriadoc's footsteps were slow and methodical as he traversed the hallways of Emyn Arnen in Ithilien, and his head was bowed, looking at the soft golden color of the flagstones. A fair house it was, and while its outer walls were of white marble, inside were used stones of rose and gold, and tiles of other soft colors. He was now on the north side of the house, where there were open spaces, and large windows, and also wide balconies. It was the Lady Eowyn's favorite part, and it had been especially built for her, and now Meriadoc was making his way to her bedside.  
  
The door was open, and when he knocked, her soft voice answered: "Come in."  
  
Though now over one hundred years old, Meriadoc peeped around the door, as was his habit, before coming slowly in. There she was, the White Lady of Ithilien, with hair that now made her title apt indeed, propped up with pillows in a great bed, bringing to mind the first time Merry had seen her after the fall of the Witch King, in the Houses of Healing. But now her face was wrinkled and worn, holding but a shadow and a thought of her former grace and loveliness. Yet it was filled with peace, and she smiled as he entered.  
  
"Master Holbytla," she said, her voice no longer musical, but still dear to his heart. "I was hoping to see you this morning. Come, sit by my bed, and speak to me. I sent Faramir from my side this morning to tend to his duties, and have been thinking much since."  
  
Meriadoc came forward and bowed, and if it was stiff and stilted, she did not care, and smiled as he took her wrinkled hand and kissed it before sitting down.  
  
"It is three score and five years, Meriadoc, since we did deeds of renown of the Fields of Pelennor," she began, "and so much change has come to the world. There are no longer fields in the Pelennor, but in their place the lowest level of Minas Tirith, and only the great battle mound and our statue remain as memorial to that day." She paused and chuckled. "The statue. That magnificent portrayal of our youth, in all of its glory, and none of its disgrace. Children walk by that statue every day, and look up in awe and respect, as they have been taught by their teachers. But were they to see us together today, they would be confused and disillusioned, and wonder if that tale was merely a legend. But so it is, I deem; a true legend, but one that has little to do with today. Those times were legendary, but these times are rooted in the earth, and magic has all but passed away forever, or become an old wives tale. I have often looked back and wondered at the way things were. We were all young, and full of despair and of hope and of great dreams, and there were marvelous deeds to be done."  
  
"Yes," said Merry, speaking for the first time. "My children wondered at me often, sometimes thinking, I am sure, that the tales must have been exaggeration. The memories of men are long, but not faultless, and if they remember those days, they do not remember them always aright. That which were but the deeds that needed to be done to us, are now legends to them. And what will be the legends of those who come after we are long gone?"

There was a pause.  
  
"I remember," began Eowyn again, "that even when we were young, even then the old men saw how different the lives of the next generation were to be. I thought how foolish it was to resist the change, to rejoice not in the new days that were coming. But now that I am in their place, I can understand them at last. We do not belong to this time anymore, Merry. It belongs to our children, and our grandchildren. Great change has come, and change for the better, so hope says, but it is not for us. We are too old to learn the new ways of this time, and we are not meant to. We fulfilled our purpose, to ready the world for those who follow, and we have been rewarded. But we are not to see how it turns out, that was never our reward. All we had to decide was what to do with the deeds of our own time. No, our reward was that we were to know that the world would not end with us. The elves say that death is the Gift of Men, and indeed I would not live on forever in this body, so frail and full of pain and weariness as it now is. I am content to leave this world. I have seen my children grow, and my grandchildren, and have seen my great-grandchildren in their youth. My life has been full and wonderful, and I do not regret that its days are drawing to their close. All things must have an end, it is the right and proper way."  
  
Merry sighed. "But the parting is not hard for those who leave, but for those who are left behind. And even when death comes naturally, there is heartbreak and sorrow."  
  
"Do you think that I do not know that?" asked Eowyn, with tears coming to her eyes. "I have ever known that I would leave Faramir behind, and it has always grieved my heart. And now I fade quickly, and he is still full of life. But he has given me his hope that our parting will be but in this world, and beyond it is more than memory. I do not know whether I believe with my reasoning mind, or with the hope that cannot see, but I believe this."  
  
And Merry took her hand in his, and they sat in silence for long, pondering over the long years of their lives. And later in the afternoon, while Eowyn slept, Merry sat by her side and watched over her, seeing in her face that there was little time left. And in the evening, Faramir returned, and came quietly into the room to sit by Merry. There seemed little sign of his years in his face, and he appeared as a man of fifty rather than five score and two, his hair but streaked with grey, and his face with few lines. But it was saddened, and his eyes were no longer warm.  
  
"You were with her today," he said softly.  
  
"I was," said Merry. "We spoke long together."  
  
"She is at peace?"  
  
"She is," said Merry.  
  
"The end is near," said Faramir. "It comes not as a surprise, but is more painful than I could ever have imagined."  
  
"It is always painful to lose the ones we love," said Merry, his old eyes now leaking the tears that he had hidden from Eowyn. "And the joy we had together is but a cushion against the emptiness. We both know this to be true. Why then, do we continue to love, when in the end it brings only pain? Why do we knowingly accept this torment?"  
  
"Because we can do nothing else," said Faramir, his voice trembling. "We cannot live without loving. But it was not meant to be like this, in the beginning, and we experience only what this marred world can offer. And, you say that our joy while our loved ones live makes our grief little better, but I would not choose, even in the breaking of my heart, to have kept that heart to myself to spare it."  
  
"Nor would I," said Merry. "But all the reason in the world cannot lessen my grief. I pity the elves, to live forever with their grief. One lifetime of men is enough."  
  
"And death is but a journey we all must take, to where the world is unmarred, and grief does not show its face." These words were but a whisper, and Faramir did not say more.  
  
Together the two old friends sat as the night deepened, and as the embers in the fire burned lower and lower. The stars shone faintly, and there was a quiet wind outside, and Eowyn's spirit was carried on it beyond the confines of the world.  
  
The End


End file.
